i had a week that came from hell (oh yes i know that you can tell)
by gustin puckerman
Summary: By the hospital bed, Maria has an unconscious Captain mumbling out a forgotten name and a Black Widow trying to match life experiences. Or Maria waits for Steve to wake up and Natasha wants to have a conversation. Post-CATWS. Maria-centric.


**i re-watched catws and it's been confirmed that im still in love with maria hill. also, we need more black hill (romantic/platonic wise) interaction + barton. their ties before avengers are precious to me okay. anywho, do enjoy.**

...

Her finger scratches and searches; and her heart pounds in her throat as her mind soars and whirls and spins as it tries not to think of the abrupt communication lost she's had with the Captain once she's punched the correct button. _Do it. Do it now_. It rings in her ears, loud and clear. His orders. The urgency. Falcon's grunting and falling. Everything. _Everything_.

(It doesn't stop ringing.)

"Hill. Where the heck are you? Give me your status, dammit." Fury's voice comes through, yanking her out of her trance and Maria moves and catches up.

"Alive, sir." She swallows, looks outside where the Hellicarrier booms and explodes, and tells herself that her chest is not quivering. "You know where to find me."

"Alright. Get out of there."

"Sir, but Steve—"

"Just get out of there." Fury bit out and Maria stays silent, nods and does as what she's told.

(Because that's what she does, right. Does whatever she's been told?)

When it explodes again, metal colliding earth, Maria closes her eyes and for a split second pretends it's fireworks. Wilson looks at her and she tries not give an impression of a person who'd just sent a hero to be burned alive.

(The fireworks ain't pretty.)

…

They find him eight hours later, washed up two kilometres away, unconscious and barely alive. They don't celebrate; Romanoff and her couldn't even manage a smile. But the air gets lighter. It gets easier to breathe.

(Maria rolls over and finally falls asleep.)

(And hour later, Romanoff joins, huddles, and snores)

…

Wilson goes first. Visits Cap, she means. They allow it. (There's nothing much they could do about it really.) Barton comes when he's gone, mumbling and groaning and frowning and pulling her aside and repeating out, "So, that's _it_? It's all over?"

She doesn't answer, gives him the reports he's supposed to give to Natasha, and doesn't tell him she's sorry.

He takes the papers, runs his fingers over the pages and exhales, looking at the S.H.I.E.L.D's badges they still bear at the side of their arms and on their chests.

(It feels heavy all of a sudden.)

"What happens now?" He asks.

Maria doesn't know.

…

It kills her, whenever he mumbles out Barnes' name. Cap. He says stuff a lot while he's unconscious, but he never wakes up. It's been three days, and he doesn't ever wake up.

Maria watches him stir while he cries out for a soldier that won't come, before his head lolls back and the drugs overtake him again. The air still and she releases the breath she's holding, taps the pen against the table, and burns holes onto the report she's signing.

She sighs.

"Hey." She hears a voice, a soft knock and Maria lifts her chin up to realise the Black Widow, clad in suit, staggers by the door, green eyes weary and tired. But there's a smile on her face; a small one, yes, but a smile nevertheless. "Wilson's gone shopping?"

"Getting breakfast, actually." She supplies, and nods as her form of greeting instead. "He hasn't left Cap's post for the past 36 hours. I think he deserves it."

"He thinks we don't eat that kind of stuff."

"Imagine him finding out that you could take more than you've been given credited for," Maria replies with as much playful snark she could get herself to do, watches as the Widow graces her with another soft smile, chuckling for that one abrupt moment.

"I do eat a lot," she admits without much humour, coming to stand by the man's other bedside, running her fingers carelessly through his cut-short hair. "Still nothing?"

"Yes." Maria looks at the half-comatose man again, frowns and doesn't sigh. "I was hoping he'd wake up."

That kind of confession doesn't usually come out of her, but it's one truth she's willing to let slip. She really _was_ hoping for him to wake up. Just enough to know that he's okay, drop in an apology and maybe detailed him in on the status, of the men (_their_ men) that actually survived the fall. He'd liked that. To know of it. Maria'd like to believe it'll somehow make him sleep better.

Natasha doesn't even blink. "Me too."

Maria taps her pen again, straightens her lips into a horizontal line. "How's the court."

"Pleasing as ever," the other woman replies dryly, green eyes never taking off from the bruised face of the sleeping man. "They think they could arrest me."

Maria actually snorts. "Well, you're not the only one."

The spy actually looks up, finally, and narrows her eyes, as though finally realising that her statement was true. Based on her look, Maria doesn't have a doubt over it. "I totally forget," Natasha mutters out, drops her hand from Rogers' face and licks her lips. "Now that Fury's gone—"

"They're going for my head, yeah." Maria sniffles lightly, brushes a fallen dark hair from her face.

"Well, I hope you've got a plan of attack."

"So far, Stark's been the most affective choice for me to go."

"You're thinking of getting a job there?"

"Thinking?" She retorts, "I'm flying to New York tonight. My interview's at nine tomorrow. Can't afford to be late, really." The smile on her face feels sticky, and she's sick to her stomach just pondering on the thought of hiding behind _Stark_, of all people. (Repeat:_Stark_, of all people.) But things have gone for the worst scenario possible, and so Maria shouldn't be that all surprised of the desperate length she'll go through just to get control on at least _some_ things that was left after the damage's been done.

Natasha merely nods, taking a seat at another plastic chair. "I could give Pepper a call if you'd like. She'll help, definitely."

"Potts?" Maria hums, nods. "That'd be nice."

Romanoff smiles again, sincere and good, and Maria's wonder when's the last time she's truly been in contact with other woman. The last mission they were in together. They weren't the _best_ of friends or anything, but there's come a moment when Maria learned to depend on the Widow, as the Widow on her. They bleed and cry and share a good laugh together (along with Barton, of course) and they're S.H.I.E.L.D before they were Avengers, (or, in her case, associated with it) — that should _mean_ something, shouldn't it?

"How're you holding up, Hill?"

"Shitty." Maria clicks her tongue. "But nothing I can't live through. You?"

"Bruce's coming in to rendezvous. Clint's being a help."

"Any place of hiding?"

"So far, Capitol Hill." Natasha sighs, rubs at her face. "But not hiding, though. Just… Well, as you said, a place to live through. For the moment."

"Banner's going to be okay?" Maria asks without blinking an eye. "I thought medias aren't really his things."

"Deep shadow condition." Natasha gives out a sour smile. "_He_ wants to come. I think it's sweet."

"Must be nice." Maria commented blankly, not really meaning it, and let the silence lingered through long enough for the beeping of the machine to carved itself into her brain, making her recognised the seconds between each beep. _Wake up_, she thought to no one. _Wake up, wake up_.

_Before I leave_.

(Before this regret ate me up alive.)

"Maria?"

"Barton kept asking me what happens now." She told him, her vision's blurring in; glassier. She holds in a breath, and grits her teeth, fisting her arms at where she's certain the Widow can't see. "I don't know, Natasha. I don't know what happens now. We save whoever we could, shield whoever we can. But…"

"It's hard to forgive and forget." The Widow supplies, nodding her head once. "It feels kind of useless, doesn't it? Knowing that S.H.I.E.L.D has been…"

"It feels like crap." Maria gave out, snappy, and accidentally glared at the man that was not waking up, privately blaming him for not wiping HYDRA for good when he could. Although no, rationally, Maria knew it wasn't Steve's fault. It was no one's fault, really. (Except for that dirty ass Pierce.)

"I don't know what I am. _Who_ I am. " Natasha admits, and Maria looks at her. "I just…" She sighed, and slumped her shoulders, cracked a knuckle. "We're going to be okay though, right?"

"We'll live," was all Maria could manage, neither shaking nor nodding her head.

"Thank you, Maria. For saving my life."

"You wouldn't have done it differently." She told, "And that's what we do, don't we? Save each other's life?"

"At the very least," Natasha gave out an abrupt chuckle, almost as though in mock, leaning back against her chair. "I guess when it gets down to it, one thing we get from S.H.I.E.L.D is, we've got each other's back. You and I. Steve and you. Steve and I. Barton and us."

Maria allowed herself to smile this time, closing her eyes and repeating the thing she'd once said the first time she and Romanoff were finally allies years back. "I'm not going to kill you, Natasha."

Natasha laughed, smiled again. "I'm not going to kill you too, Hill."

"Good."

"Good."

The beeping of the machine continues.

…

He never wakes up, and she goes to New York.


End file.
